


i might like you better (if we slept together)

by Diaphenia



Category: Veep
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaphenia/pseuds/Diaphenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Amy and Dan didn't sleep together and one time they did</p>
            </blockquote>





	i might like you better (if we slept together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



> Happy Night on Fic Mountain to you, Magisterequitum!

**college**

“I need you to actually do your share of the work,” Amy says to Dan, the idiot her Professor’s paired her up with. He’s so busy eye-fucking everyone in the library, like he thinks one of those freshmen girls is going to blow him in the bathroom or something.

“And I need you to stop calling me every single day to see how far along I am with my portion,” he answers. “You’re not my mom, thank god.”

“I’d hate to see the monster that birthed you.”

“Yeah, she’d have a lot to say about this.... situation right here.” He waves his hands towards her outfit.

“I’m going to take fashion advise from some trying-too-hard frat brother.” Amy knows that if she stabs him with a pencil, it’ll be a problem, so she focuses instead on the assignment.

“So who do you think’s getting Selina’s internship?” Dan asks, twirling his pencil from hand to hand.

“It could go to anyone, really.” She can be diplomatic too, or at least she can fake it. “Maybe Gary, he’s her pet.”

“Yeah, but do you think she’d ever give anything to the ball- less wonder?” He smirks at her, and she’s comfortable enough with herself to admit she thinks he’s got a good one, all slow and knowing. “It’ll probably go to Mike.”

She glances at him, and they both start laughing.

“Mike’s got a better chance at impregnating his own asshole. Just as long as it’s not freaking Bill Erickson.”

“I hate that guy.”

“Doesn’t matter, though, because it’ll be me.”

“Or me.”

“Please, the only way you’re getting on Selena is if I decide to turn her down for Danny Chung’s thing.”

“That guy doesn’t even have tenure yet,” she says dismissively.

“He’s the future,” Dan says, leaning forward. “Listen, this project’s stupid. You wanna get out of here, get a couple beers?” He ogles her, and _what_ , like she can’t appreciate that?

“You think I don’t know how this is going to play out?” she asks. “Let’s see, you ask me out for drinks, we get competitive over who can drink who under the table, and next thing I know I’m pressed up against some ironic _Animal House_ poster while your roommate wanders in, looking for his missing Pop-Tarts.”

“Jonah likes Toaster Strudel,” Dan says, and that just about clinches it.

“And then I have to do my laundry on a Thursday night just so that I can sit on the washer because you haven’t ever gotten a girl off.” She starts shoving her stuff in her backpack, determined to have the last word.

  
Just as she’s about to storm out of there, and maybe do the whole project because at least it would be done _right_ , he grabs her arm. “I could definitely get you off,” he purrs, and _damn it,_ she’s probably going to have to do her laundry tonight now anyway.

 

**concert**

Dan’s not a music snob, but there’s gotta be better shows than this no-name band in this stupid dive bar. He gave up these shitty bars when he graduated; there’s no reason to be drinking warm beer and listening to this garbage. Still, Jonah seems to like it, this stupid music that sounds like garbage trucks filled with cats, and Jonah’s uncle’s really well connected, so he can deal.

“I’m gonna get more beer,” he tells Jonah, who keeps jumping around like he’s trying to touch the fucking ceiling. He could probably do it, too, since he spent all his energy on height rather than personality.

“Don’t you love this?” Jonah screams. “Damn, this shit is tight like your mom.” He fist-pumps, and Dan leaves because if he starts in on Jonah he really is going to die of thirst from the laundry list of things he’s going to say.

He’s walking the two beers slowly back, trying not to get knocked over by the idiots moshing like it’s 1992, when he sees her.

She’s staring intensely at her phone, completely ignoring the concert, only to pull out another goddamn phone from her boot.

He approaches her and offers her a beer. She blinks at him twice before pocketing one of the phones. “This better not be roofied,” she says, and gulps half of it down before he can answer.

“So, you like the band?” he asks.

“Yeah right. I’m here for research. You?”

“Networking.”

“I fucking hate this music.”

“ You want to get out of here?”

“Please,” she says, and grabs his hand, pulling him towards the exit, dodging hipsters and metalheads alike.

They end up in the alley, and he presses her against the wall, his hand between the exposed brick and the back of her head. He kisses her, and she’s feisty, biting his lip. He’s not particularly kinky, but she practically draws blood the third time and he fucking _growls_ in response, grabbing her hip and grinding against her. It’s raw and passionate and almost animalistic, and he’s about three seconds from pulling down her pants and giving it to her right there when she wretches away.

Dan puts up his hands like he’s about to be arrested.

“Gotta go,” she says, and he can’t believe it, like she changed on a fucking dime. “That was... adequate.”

He’d believe it, too, but in the moonlight her can see her lip trembling.

“Can I call you?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“Sure,” she says, turning to leave.

“I don’t have your number.”

“Wouldn’t pick up even if you did,” she says, never breaking her stride.

He never tells Jonah, and he _loves_ bragging to that ass-clown.

 

**cruise**

“I can’t get a _fucking_ signal on this _fucking_ boat,” she says, stomping her foot. She’s about ready to throw her phone into the ocean when she notices a guy leaning over the railing, looking queasy. And not just any guy, but the guy who cut her in line the night before at the all-you-can-eat buffet. She’d called him out and he’d rolled his eyes at her, and damn, if this isn’t sweet, sweet karma he’s puking out..

She positions herself close enough to enjoy his misery but not so close as to endanger her outfit. “Food’s probably better coming up than going down,” she says conversationally.

It takes him a moment, but when his eyes narrow she knows he recognizes her. “You would be enjoying this. Let me tell you, we invented airplanes for a reason.” He rinses his mouth out with bottled water, spitting into the ocean.

“So why are you on this hell boat?” she asks.

“Family ‘bonding.’” He doesn’t use air quotes, but she can hear them in his voice.

“Problems with your wife?” She bites her tongue, but he doesn’t comment.

“Brother’s fiance. And brother. And mother, for that matter.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Why are you here? I haven’t exactly seen you poolside.”

“My boss basically dumped me on here. Demanded I take a vacation. Who does that?”

“It’s unamerican,” he agrees, and she smiles at him.

“If I wanted to go on vacation, I’d be fucking French.”

“Your xenophobia’s really doing it for me,” he says, giving her a lecherous smile.

“Are you _hitting on me_ when you were throwing up ten minutes ago?” She shakes her head no, a thousand times no. As added protection, she remembers, in vivid technicolor, how ill he’d looked before.

“Worth a shot,” he says, backing away. “See you at dinner. I hear we’re assigned to the same table tonight.”

Amy realized she absolutely had to get off this boat.

 

**double date**

Dan Egan does _not_ get stood up. That’s a thing he _does_ , sometimes, but only when it’s a blind date and she’s less than a six.

But he’s been on two dates with this one, and she’s a solid eight, and they got along so well. And yet here he is, twenty minutes after the supposed start of his date, drinking whiskey at the bar like some jerk.

He’s not going to text her, because then she’s won.

He checks his phone again, just in case.

It’s bullshit, and he’s about to throw down some cash and book it out of there. There’s an entire city full of women in pantsuits looking for some NSA attention, and he’s going to find one. Maybe more than one.

And then he sees one, waiting in the doorway. Clearly waiting for someone, but she barely glances around before ignoring everybody. And she’s wearing the requisite pants suit, but it’s hotter on her somehow, paired with that thirty dollar haircut and that minimalist makeup all the women have. She’s pretty, but maybe only a six, six and a half.

Then she shifts over to the corner, and he sees her shoes. They’re red heels, tall and pointy, completely at odds with the rest of her outfit.

He’s about to go talk to her when he’s intercepted by some giant, her actual date. It takes him a minute to place the guy, but it hits him. Jonah Ryan, the dickhead little brother of his frat bro Peter. He’d been a high school senior when Dan was about to graduate, and he’d spent Spring Break getting in the way at parties.

Fuck that guy.

He saddles up to them both.

“Jonah! You freak. I haven’t seen you in forever. How’s your brother?”

“Dan motherfucking Egan!” He gives him a big hand-slapping shake, which lets Dan know he never got in the frat, big surprise there. “Pete’s not yet implicated in white collar crimes. Accused, but not implicated.”

“And who’s this?” Dan asks.

“This right here is Amy, Amy Brookheimer, meet Dan, he’s one of the assholes who’s friends with my brother.”

She barely looks up. “Charmed.”

This is not what he was looking for. Because she’s even prettier up close, plus she’s pretty clearly annoyed with Jonah’s existence, which is always a plus.

“What’s a ten like you doing with a two like this?” he asks her.

She smirks, and he realizes she probably really is a ten. “It’s a _date_ according to my employer, which is legal for her to send me on for some reason.”

“She couldn’t resist me,” Jonah says over her, throwing his arm around her.

She shrugs him off easily. “I’m pretty sure prostitutes in this town make more money than I do. Although, I guess they still have to fuck Jonah.”

“I have never paid for—”

She cuts him off. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Ryan, party of two, says the maitre d. Dan interrupts with “Party of three, actually.”

Jonah makes a face. “Dan, my man, we were actually looking to be alone—”

The blonde, Amy, says, “I think that’s a great idea.”

Which is how he ends up at a table for two, drinking wine and wondering how he can get Jonah to buzz off.

Jonah’s like herpes, though, impossible to shake.

And he’s pulling out all the stops to impress this woman, who clearly isn’t here of her own volition. He keeps buying things, appetizers, desserts, bottles of wine. Good wine, too, way more than his glorified intern job should be paying him. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so pathetic.

Dan pulls out a pen and writes on a cocktail napkin, _let’s go_ , holding it up in Amy’s line of vision while Jonah’s distracted. She doesn’t respond, keeping her face angled towards her pretend date, until she catches his eye and nods ever so slightly.

“I’m gonna hit the can,” he tells Jonah just as she says she has a call, which is how the two of them end up crawling out a window in the ladies room.

“Not the first time I’ve done that,” he tells her as he pushes himself out the window, landing next to her with far more grace than he actually possesses. “First time with such nice company.”

“Oh come off it,” she says.

“It’s true,” he says, and she accepts it, or at least doesn’t argue with him. They walk to the edge of the parking lot, out of the view of the restaurant.

“I had fun, you know,” she says suddenly. “Not with Jonah.”

Dan wonders if he could get her to leave with him. She’s hot, he sees that now, and she’s got a sharp sense of humor and maybe more ambition than him, which is terrifying. She’d spent half the meal switching off between her phone and her ipad in front of her face, and it wasn’t the usual blow-off technique. She has the ears of some powerful people, which means she’s isn’t going to let a date get in the way of that.

Only, her phone isn’t even in her hands right now.

The thought makes him shiver despite the hot night.

He zeros in on her lips. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” she says softly, and she’s looking at his mouth too.

He tilts down, ready to get this thing moving, when her chest starts buzzing.

“Sorry.” She holds up a finger, listening to whoever’s on the line. “She did _what_?” She talks right over whatever the answer is, and he catches words here and there. _Stupid_ is one. _Precarious position_ is another.

She looks pissed when she disconnects, and if there’s one thing that lacking from today’s phones, it’s the ability to slam down the receiver.

“My boss cut her hair.” She’s already texting or emailing or whatever, her brain in the barber shop.

“So?”

“So? So she’s the current frontrunner for the second most important job in the government.”

“Your boss thinks she’s up for Secretary of State? Because there’s no way.”

She gives him a withering glance.

“It’s just a haircut,” he says. “”She’s just a senator.”

“Well, she won’t be forever,” she snaps. “Well, maybe now that her hair is shoulder-length. It’s like she’s throwing away her chance on the presidential ticket.”

“She’s not Keri Russell. It’s just a _haircut_.”

“And _this_ was just dinner.”

 

**the real thing**

“Hi, I’m Dan Egan,” he says.

“I know,” she says. “I mean, I’m Amy. Amy Brookheimer.” He shakes her hand slowly, holding on just a fraction too long.

He’s _pretty_. She’s a little startled by it. She’s worked with pretty boys before but this one might be the most high maintenance.

“So, do you get manicures to go with all that hair product or...?” she asks.

He snorts, and she likes that. “We can’t all get by on talent. Some of us have to use our looks.”

“Well then you’ll never succeed.”

Even though this is supposed to be a networking party and even though she really should be doing other things, she mostly just drinks with Dan. He takes his whiskey neat, and doesn’t make fun of her amaretto sours.

There’s rumors about him, of course. That he mostly dates to get ahead, that he’ll fuck anything that moves, that his dick is the eighth wonder of the world... she suspects he made that one up himself.

Maybe it’s the amaretto, but she really wants to find out the truth.

“So, rumor has it you want to take over DC,” she says.

“Who doesn’t? Everyone in this room would give their left tit just to be the president’s bag bitch. Here’s the difference, though. I want power, but I know how important alliances are.” He looks her over slowly, and she squirms a little under the attention. “If it were you and me against Washington, we’d have these jerks on their knees.”

Amy imagines, briefly, what that would be like. She’s not someone to imagine domesticity, but she can’t help it; picturing the two of them reading the headlines while CSPAN blares in the corner. They’d be a power couple, too, controlling the party from behind the scenes. It’s such a great idea that she could throw up. She’s not the domesticity type, so why contemplate it?. She buries that down deep.

“Who wants these idiots on their knees when I could have you?” she asks, and looks him square in the eyes.

Boom. He’s staring at her now, his little finger sandwich forgotten. He leans over, in full view of the entire room, and whispers what has to be the dirtiest thing anyone’s ever said to her in her ear. Her knees feel a little weak, but damn, that’s an excellent suggestion.

She brings him home with her, buzzed on dirty talk and amaretto.

***

She regrets it, of course.


End file.
